


Light and Shadow

by LadyParnasse



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Angst and Romance, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Love, Love Confessions, Lust, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Relationship(s), Reunions, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship, Sexual Content, Sexual Inexperience, Slow Build, Smut, Soulmates, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 05:55:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16655485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyParnasse/pseuds/LadyParnasse
Summary: Darkness and light are two sides of the same coin. What if the Mirror wasn't the only thing connecting our Hero and the Princess of Twilight?Exploration of Midna, the Twilight Realm, and "what ifs" after Twilight Princess.Here there be spoilers, fluff, and eventual smut. Link speaks. Everything's a bit star-crossed.Experimental plot on my part, constantly evolving. Rating may change.





	1. Bound Together

**Author's Note:**

> I'm making this up as I go! Please enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a dream. Isn't it? The Mirror was shattered, after all ...

_“Never forget that there's another world bound to this one.”_

* * *

He opened his eyes to darkness.

A sea of pitch stretched around him in every direction.

He blinked. The faintest glimmer of light spread to fill the space between earth and sky—a serene, washed-out, golden band. He knew that light. He knew this eerie, peaceful feeling. He knew this _place—_ this _realm_.

He felt his face tense with confusion.

_How?_

In reflex, a name fluttered behind his lips. He swallowed it down and blinked hard, squinting even harder. It was ridiculous to consider. This was some kind of vision or dream. Maybe even a nightmare.

There was no sign of her. Nothing else familiar. Nothing on the horizon to totally confirm his suspicions. Nothing but that pale band of twilight, somewhere between sun and moon, the warm and lonely color of dusk.

He tried blinking again. That strange light spread through the air to surround him, illuminating a meadow, or a garden, or something in between. He moved in a slow circle, instinctively scanning the landscape. Hedges and flowers in softly glowing, uncanny shapes. Rolling hills in the distance. That unnervingly omnipresent golden light.

There was a path at his feet and he took one step, two to follow it. He could feel solid earth beneath him, and a wisp of panic swelling in his chest.

This nightmare seemed incredibly _real._

He imagined the whisper of her name again. He wouldn’t let it past his lips, but he thought it all the same.

_Midna?_

A long breath of silence.

Then, the faintest sense of soft, quiet laughter, echoing not through his ears, but emanating somewhere deep inside his mind.

So long as he lived, he’d never forget that voice. Cool and relaxed, it was caught somewhere in the cobwebs of his memory.

“Well, well,” she was saying, lilting and melodic. He could _feel_ her words, laced with emotions he didn’t dare to untangle. “This is something I didn’t expect. Not _yet_ , anyway.”

He swallowed hard again.

 _A dream or a vision_ , he reminded himself, feeling his eyes widen nonetheless. He stumbled on the path and braced himself against a vine of gently glowing roses, the color of sunset.

“A dream?” The sound of her laughter again, coming from everywhere, and nowhere. “Is that what you want this to be?”

A familiar emotion overpowered her voice this time, too strong to ignore. Sadness.

His heart lurched. _No._

“So quick to wish me away,” she was saying, laced with the softest edge of bitterness, and he was closing his eyes, trying to shake himself out of this.

After two years, it wasn’t the first time he’d dreamt of her. In all likelihood, it wouldn’t be the last. Some evenings past, he still relived that final memory—the solemn resignation—the irrevocable decision casting shadows on her lovely face. Some midnights, he still woke to the sound of shattering glass.

Over time the nightmares began to fade, along with his own painful, lingering regrets. But this—this felt _different._

“Nothing to say?” she asked.

He knew what it felt like to be near her, and this time—she seemed to be— _behind him_ —

He twisted around to find the hot stare of piercing, crimson eyes. “It’s no fun to ignore old friends,” she murmured, gazing down at him through long black lashes.

Another lurch of his heart. “M-Midna,” he stammered, torn between the urge to reach out and touch her, and the certainty that if he did, he’d wake up.

Her soft lips arched with the smallest of smiles. “Still nearly speechless,” she said gently, tilting her head, letting her eyes drift down to trace the shapes of his body. “Aren’t you, Brave Hero?” Her eyes met his again, and she arched one elegant black brow. “And I’m still taller than you,” she muttered, stepping closer.

He blinked. He felt like he was drowning.

Something about her flame colored hair—her captivating, scarlet eyes—the soft, sharp angles of her face—

He swallowed hard and searched for his voice. “You aren’t real,” he said quietly, giving sound to his thoughts. “I don’t believe it. I can’t.”

She leaned toward him. The heavy fabric of her hooded cape shifted with a muffled whisper, a strand of her sunset-orange hair falling loose beside her cheek. “Tell me why.”

Dew. A mist of rain. The faintest hint of flowers. She smelled just like he remembered, like so many wonderful things. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, shaking his head. “You destroyed the mirror,” he muttered, opening his eyes to stare at her again. “The bridge is broken. Light and shadow can’t mix. You said so yourself.”

She was so close now that he could feel something like the warmth of her. All around him was the smell of rainwater and gardenias, delicate and crisp. “I said that I’d _see you,_ ” she whispered.

Her fingertips. He could feel them, cool and gentle, smoothing a path down his cheek. Both of her hands now, gently touching his jaw, his neck. He closed his eyes, waiting for reality to come and dispel her.

Her voice came again, vaguely disappointed. “I thought—” She paused. “I really thought—” Her fingers on his skin stilled, then pulled away. He opened his eyes to meet a tense scarlet stare. “Come back when you’re ready,” she said, leaning back.

He moved toward her in reflex, frowning. “What—do you mean?”

She retreated, shaking her head. “The next time you call me,” she said softly, the shadows beginning to swallow her. She pointed to the base of her throat. “Make sure that you want to.”

He felt even more confused than before, but the darkness around her had stretched into a shroud. It started swallowing everything up and he closed his eyes shut again, waiting for the jolt, the sudden return to consciousness—

* * *

The pale, watery light of dawn pressed against his eyelids. He opened them, breathing deep enough to sigh.

He was nestled in his bedroll, exactly as before. No sign of twilight anywhere around him.

No sign of Midna.

_A dream._

Like always.

He sighed again, rolling over. Something sharp pressed into his collarbone and he rolled back with a gasp, lifting a hand to touch it.

The pads of his fingers met a bloodred gem, embedded between intricate prongs of silver metal. It hung on a thin silver chain around his neck.

Ice pooled in his stomach as he tried to remember something, anything to explain this. All he could find was the wisp of a recent memory—cool, slender fingers, sliding around his neck—

In his hand, the gem seemed to flicker, the shadows around him falling a little darker.

_Come back when you’re ready._

His heart skipped a beat.

A dream, or … something _else._


	2. Rightful Ruler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone in her bedroom, Midna muses on the formidable power of time and emotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild plot begins to appear ...

Midna pulled the last long silver pin from her headpiece, lifting off the intricate crown. She unfastened the clasps and jewelry in her hair, and nestled everything into the waiting case on her dresser, catching her reflection in the wide, wall-length mirror.

Tall, severe. Skin pale as ash and dark as midnight. She met her own gaze, red and unblinking. The heat there was singeing—something she didn’t care to control.

She combed her fingers through the hair that fell loose around her shoulders. In the mirror it shimmered, long and sleek, so vibrant it almost seemed to glow. Some said it shone like flames, or embers, or the even sun’s last dying rays. How fitting for the princess of the twilight realm.

Midna was aware that she was beautiful. No one allowed her to forget it. Every handmaiden commented on the quality of her figure. Courtiers admired her fierce wit, paired with her stern and regal countenance. Even weathered emissaries paused for breath in her presence.

She supposed her beauty was strange and intense. Perhaps it scared away timid souls, the weak-willed.

Still, she was so much more than beautiful. Her people knew this too—they were aware of her scholarly pursuit of myths and artifacts, ancient beasts, alternate worlds and long-forgotten magic. She was always inquiring after the deepest reaches of her lands, meeting with wisemen and shamans and bookkeepers, supplementing her knowledge, practicing her sorcery.

For as long as she lived, she’d see to it herself that something like _Zant_ never happened again.

She sighed, examining her own tense reflection. Then she tugged back the hood of her cape and shrugged it from her shoulders. She untied the rest of her wrappings, letting everything fall to the floor in a soft dark pile.

Her bedroom was wide and airy, decorated in muted hues. Black, white, teal—calm and soothing in the warm, eerie twilight.

She flicked her left wrist. Heavy curtains pulled to cover each window, blocking out the serene golden light. Then she stalked to her bedside and yanked down the bedclothes. With a heavy sigh, she shoved herself in between the silky blankets, scowling.

Two years.

She wedged her arms beneath two enormous black pillows.

Had it been too long? On some level, had he still forgotten?

She groaned, rolling over to shove her face into one of the plush black cushions.

Time was strange. It meant something different in each of the realms. His was marked by seasons and extremes, pinpoints of days and nights. Her people knew no such thing.

After all, time itself was a luxury and a myth, fluid and constant, always evolving. Her people saw in it no distinctions, no need to organize themselves arbitrarily by things like seconds or hours. They simply existed. And in the span of time since the merging of their worlds, since the calamity of _Zant_ , her people readjusted.

In the absence of Ganondorf’s curse, the realm restored itself. Her people were gentle and pure and before long, their lives resumed like normal. It was easy. Almost _too_ easy. Even though Midna was their princess, and the sole rightful ruler, what use was she if they barely even _needed_ her?

They adored her. Midna knew this. To this _day_ they lauded her with praises. Even after she _abandoned_ them—after she _left_ them thanks to her own fear and shame—they _forgave her_. They ignored the complete filth of the beginning and saw only the glory of the end: the banishing of Zant, the cleansing of darkness, and their ruler’s triumphant return.

She didn’t deserve it. The credit and adulation belonged to Link and Zelda alone.

Sure, she did her best. She may have pushed _parts_ of the story together, but—

She buried her face further into the cushions.

Midna was strong, and beautiful. A shrewd and gracious ruler adored by her people. She wanted for nothing but needed _something_ — _anything_ to fill the unexpected hollowness _he_ left behind.

She thought that destroying the mirror could erase him—help her forget everything about the world of shining reflections she was never meant to see. But instead she spent two years struggling with loneliness, stilling her heart whenever she thought of him. Biting her lip whenever she dreamt of him. Missing the earnest warmth that somehow only someone from the realm of light possessed.

That somehow, only _he_ possessed.

She could summon his image in perfect, vivid detail—tawny hair, clothes dusty, eyes on the horizon. Quiet and curious, ready to face any challenge, even if it meant threatening his life—or _worse_ —placing it firmly into her hands.

She closed her eyes. Against her better judgment, she imagined his steady, strong arms around her—his calloused fingers combing gently through her hair. She imagined the strange, spellbound look in his eyes whenever he met her stare.

He was so human. So strange and unpredictable. Distant and restricted, but somehow trapped inside her heart.

The first time she visited his dreams—when she realized what was happening—she cut herself off. _Strictly_ forbidden. How could she _forget him_ if she kept swaggering into his nightmares? So, she cast some spells and ensorcelled the connection—walled it off, and that was that.

Out of sight, out of mind.

But time dragged on and the hollow feeling got worse. _Somehow_ the strength of her spells wore off—an accident, of course; totally beyond _her_ control—and she caught herself slipping here and there. Nothing serious. Just glimpses, really, once or twice. Just moments she stole in the twilight of his nights.

He wanted to forget her, too. She could tell by his feelings. In his dreams, his emotions stretched unbound, beyond the confines of his heart, becoming something tangible and sensory. Selfishly, she wanted to stop him. Selfishly, she wanted them both to remember.

Selfishly, she wanted something _more._

So, she broke her spells, and repaired the bridge between them, studying the lingering, unexpected connection. She tried to unravel the secrets of that magic, the bond between moments of their minds. She knew what she wanted, but he had to want it, too. Did he? Did he feel somehow hollow without her? And how could she find out?

How could she let _him_ come to _her?_

She fashioned the amulet from old royal trinkets—things with a bit of her spirit inside them. It was a tangible conduit, a direct path to Midna. And now, finally, she’d placed it in his hands.

Would he use it?

Only _time_ , yet again, would tell.


	3. Body and Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Separate, but together. Link begins to learn that there are many realms we inhabit, even within ourselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got so many ideas now ... I hope they come out alright!

Sitting shirtless and cross-legged on his bedroll, Link turned the small pendant over in his hands, examining it.

He’d unclasped it from his neck to get a better look. Now that he did, the strong, geometric shapes were familiar. They reminded him of the twilight realm—the jewelry that Midna still wore in his memory.

Instinct said she’d given him this trinket, but logic said that was impossible. How could something in a dream—something _imagined_ —become physical, corporeal?

Stranger things had happened in his life. Granted, most of those things were also a direct result of Midna. He stared down at the blood red gem and shook his head.

_What am I supposed to do with this?_

The faintest imagined sense of her voice.

_Use it to call me._

He blinked. The jewel seemed brighter.

Almost … _glowing._

He scowled at it and felt his forehead crinkle. How can I use a _necklace_ to call her?

Now it was _definitely_ glowing.

 _Don’t be silly_ , she seemed to say, somewhere deep inside his mind. _You’ve solved far more complicated riddles._

He scoffed. “You’re too complicated to solve,” he muttered.

Like the sweep of a curtain, darkness fell all around him. He sucked in a shocked breath and blinked quickly, trying to calm his uneven heartbeat.

The ground beneath him seemed to give, to sink a bit, and he scrambled to his knees, fighting the urge to yell.

Somewhere close by, she laughed. “My, my, this _is_ entertaining.”

He coughed, holding the pendant in a tight grip. “What’s happening?”

She chuckled. “You’ve managed a visit,” she explained. “I admit, I didn’t realize the pathway would be this potent.”

The _what?_

His eyes were finally adjusting to the darkness. Now he could see he was indoors, in a room, richly decorated in tones of black and silver. Heavy curtains covered most of the walls, blocking off any sign of windows.

He used his free hand to brace himself on the floor, and realized he wasn’t on the floor at all. He was touching something smooth, something soft and inviting. Something like a cushion, or a blanket.

Or a bed.

He blinked.

“Midna,” he muttered, his voice very low. “Where am I?”

He could almost hear her smile. “My bedchamber,” she said sweetly.

He lurched away like he’d been burned. A strong, slender hand wrapped around his forearm, coaxing him back, and he jerked his face in that direction. Even in the dim light, he could see the fire in her eyes—the wild flaming mane of orange hair—the strange glowing patterns on her arms. Her bare arms. Her bare …

He looked away fast. “Are you _naked?_ ”

She snorted. “I don’t wear much unless I have meetings,” she said frankly.

He stared up at the ceiling. “Is this not a _meeting?_ ”

In the corner of his eye, she shrugged. “It’s not my fault you couldn’t wait to visit.”

“How was I supposed to?” He held out his left hand, opening his fingers to show the amulet. He’d been holding it so tightly an imprint was left on his skin. “You left me with _very_ vague instructions.”

She scoffed dismissively. “I knew you could figure it out.” Her hand was still on his arm, and she squeezed it. “Look at me.”

He set his jaw, keeping his eyes firmly away. “You should get dressed first,” he muttered, pulling his arm from her grip and scooting toward the edge of what was now, very obviously, a bedspread.

Behind him he could hear her scoff again, followed by the rustling of blankets. He could feel the bed move as she shifted herself up and out of it—hear the soft sounds of bare feet padding across the floor. More rustling as she presumably clothed herself.

“There,” she finally grumbled. “I’m decent.”

He dared to glance back at her. Hands on her hips, she was indeed covered—around the thighs at least, with a half-skirt like the one he remembered. He tried not to focus on the pale blue-grey of her stomach, or the fact that the ink-black skin of her chest was still bare. He paid attention instead to her arrogant expression. “Now my body won’t offend your _fragile eyes_ ,” she said, cocking one sweeping brow.

His throat was dry. “It isn’t _that,_ ” he muttered, frowning. “I just—” He tried to think of what he wanted to say. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you—I want to focus on the right things.”

She barked a laugh. “Humans are so bizarre,” she mused, tilting her head to one side. She crossed back over to the bed. With her long legs, the half-skirt was a poor excuse for cover, but he stuck to his convictions. He stared squarely into her face as she crawled back onto the bed, perching beside him and tilting her head the other way.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she demanded, folding her legs beneath her.

He took a breath. Wet his lips. Tried not to lose himself in her eyes. “I suppose I’m thinking about how confused I am,” he admitted.

She lifted her eyebrows. “Tell me about that, then,” she said.

She was close enough that he could smell her again—indescribably good—and he tried to ignore that, too. “The dream last night,” he muttered, looking down at the hands clasped in his lap; the thin silver chain wrapped around his palm. “You somehow managed to give me this necklace. You were _there._ And now—now …” He paused. Surely this wasn’t a dream, too. He was almost _certainly_ awake.

Almost.

“Are we really here?” he asked, glancing back up at her. “Together?”

She laughed. “As long as the pathway is open, yes,” she said softly. “I think we are.”

There was that word again. _Pathway_. “What is this pathway you keep mentioning?”

She broke eye contact to think for a moment, sighing. “Even I don’t understand it,” she confessed, giving him a sidelong glance. “As far as I know, something happened during all that time we spent together. Now—” She gestured between them with both hands. “We’re connected.”

He studied the patterns on her arms as he thought. Once again, stranger things had happened. But he’d been convinced, then as well as now, that nothing— _nothing_ —could bridge the gap between them. Yet a path lay between them all along?

His heart fluttered.

“How long have you known about this?” he asked quietly.

She fixed him with wide, scarlet eyes, and he could almost see the storm of thoughts behind them. “Do you really want to know?”

His heart skipped a beat. “Has it been the whole time?”

She pursed her lips. “Not _exactly_ ,” she hedged, tilting her face to look at him through her lashes. “When I realized what was going on, I cut you off.”

He blinked. “What?”

Midna sighed. “It’s not important,” she muttered. “As long as you’re happy to be here now.”

He thought about that for a moment, earning her indignant stare. She folded her arms across her chest. “You _are_ happy to be here, aren’t you?”

Honestly, he was still too muddled to be sure. “I don’t know,” he admitted. He turned his eyes slowly around the darkened room, taking in the stark geometric patterns, the clean angles and faintly glowing details. It was surreal.

She was quiet for a moment. When he faced her direction again, she had a distant look in her eyes. She used one hand to comb through her hair. “I’ve thought of this moment, you know,” she murmured. “Being together again, even if mostly in spirit.”

In … spirit?

Her scarlet eyes locked with his and she took a shallow breath. “I’m not sure how long we have this time,” she said, something intense flickering through her expression. “I still can’t pull you all the way through.”

 _All the way?_ “What do you mean?”

She thought about that for a moment, about some way to explain it. “Remember when we first met?”

He couldn’t forget it if he tried. He nodded slowly.

She pressed her lips together. “Remember when I showed you the spirits in the castle, trapped between realms?”

The memories flashed behind his eyes, as vivid as ever. “They were there, but …”

“—not there,” she finished, nodding her head. “It’s like—a dream. In dreams, we can touch, and feel, and think … but all of it happens in our souls alone, beyond our bodies. We aren’t—” She took a moment to search for the word, her eyes unfocused. “—tethered.”

He let the information settle in. “So, I’m somehow here, but … not here,” he murmured. “I’ve left my body behind.”

“I _think_ so,” she said, tilting her head. “Or that’s my best theory.”

His mind was starting to swirl. “But if that’s true,” he began, moving his right hand to spread it on the bedclothes. Smooth and silky soft. “How can I feel this?” He stared at her hard, and hesitated. “Midna. How did you touch me?”

Her eyes fluttered shut. “Say it again,” she whispered.

He paused, thoroughly perplexed. “Say what again?”

“My name,” she said, opening her eyes to fix her gaze on him. “Say it.”

An unfamiliar feeling inched down his spine and he shivered. “M-Midna?”

A slow, savoring grin spread across her lips. Then she took a breath. “Feelings exist beyond the body,” she continued, as though nothing had happened. “You don’t need a corporeal form for the experience.” She reached out to him with both hands, and he resisted the urge to flinch bashfully away.

“I’m not sure I follow,” he muttered, watching as she pressed her fingers against the skin of his forearm. They felt cool and gentle.

“It all happens in the mind,” she explained, leaning toward him. “Thoughts, feelings, sensations. Everything originates there to begin with.”

Her eyes were very close. The muscles in his body tensed and he tried to remember to breathe. “My mind’s inside my body,” he muttered, trying to think, trying to hold her stare. “How can it move beyond?”

She smiled again, slow and wicked. “The mind is a powerful thing,” she purred. Her hands moved along his skin, coming up to rest on his shoulders. She leaned closer, her hair falling in a wild curtain of flame between them.

Her smell was everywhere, delicate and hypnotic. Longing pooled in the pit of his stomach.

He wanted _something_. Wanted more.

His lips parted. _Midna_. “I want …”

She leaned their foreheads together. “What do you want?” she whispered.

The tip of his nose brushed hers. His heart was racing. Her eyes—her eyes were spellbinding.

“Tell me,” she begged.

Something about her voice sounded far away. That feeling in the pit of his stomach—it was changing …

 _Wait_. “Something’s wrong,” he managed to mutter.

Her grip on his shoulders tightened. “Is it closing?”

The room flickered around him, going in and out of focus. “I don’t … want—”

“Link!”

She was holding him so tightly he could feel the tips of her fingernails—

Like curtains being thrown aside, the darkness around him vanished. He was back, cross-legged on his bedroll, the pale light of dawn surrounding him.

His heart was racing. He took a moment to ground himself, to catch his breath.

Had he just returned … to his _body?_

He glanced down at himself—still shirtless, the pendant in his hand, his pants bunching where he—where he—

He coughed in surprise, adjusting himself.

Well. _If that’s the reason I came back … I’ll never be able to get close to her._

He looked down at the amulet.

Mind and body. Separate, but together.

Why did he get the feeling that this was only the beginning?

And maybe … the beginning of something he shouldn’t want so desperately to explore.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could swear he heard laughter.


	4. Regal Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Twilight Princess holds court. It seems she's cast several under her spell.

In the Twilight Realm, time passed strangely.

It was not used as a tool or foundation. It was not a means for censure, order, or judgment. In the absence of night or day, the linear meaning of time ceased to exist, and so did most of its significance.

When emergencies arose, Midna handled them. If officials were anxious, Midna met with them. The Twilight Princess was a bastion of strength and serenity, cool and measured, gentle and calm.

Midna could exist quite easily in quietude and indifference. But there was another side of her lurking beneath the surface—a collection of flaws she kept carefully, carefully hidden.

Back when Zant used his foul magic, he targeted those weaknesses. He knew her well—well enough to shackle and twist her powers, bending even her body itself into something small, weak, and hideous. Trapped in that shape, she gave in to despair. She allowed her heart to fill with bitterness, shirked her duties, and fled. Somehow, in Zant’s wake, she felt like an impostor, too.

Despite it all, there was fire in her veins. That regal flame never guttered. Her pride and ambition wouldn’t allow her to abandon her people, and so she searched. Even in self-imposed exile, she sought a hero, and found him. He a beast, and she an imp; both with minds half-resigned to darkness.

How fitting.

They were broken vessels. The polish was gone. Nothing remained but cracks and flaws. Still, he bore on, and she alongside him. Through wickedness, gloom, and desolation, the two of them shared that stubborn spark of courage. The two of them tempered a shrouded world with the tiniest promise of light.

From the beginning, she had the upper hand. She knew exactly what he was—the Divine Beast. She suspected his nature, his destiny. But he did not. He knew nothing of his companion—not her role, nor title, nor rightful appearance.

Though much of the truth she deliberately concealed, he came to know her of his own accord: not as ruler, scholar, or sorceress. He knew her simply as _Midna_.

There were few who shared that distinction.

* * *

 “But my Princess.” The Count’s emissary was a small female, the look in her wide yellow eyes imploring. “You must understand. It’s tradition to take a companion—a symbol of hope for the future. And _look_ at you,” she crooned, giving Midna another sweeping bow. “Such beauty should _hardly_ be wasted.”

Midna forced calm into her veins.

_Words are **nothing** but words._

The Twilight Princess willed herself to smile. “Thank you,” she said, very softly, nodding gently. The jewelry in her hair and headpiece tinkled. “I fully comprehend your concerns.” As Midna lifted her head, she hoped her expression was polite. “I will be sure to review the Count’s request.”

Soothed indeed, the woman bowed again. “Oh, _thank_ you my lady. Thank you, my Princess.” A handmaiden appeared to escort the representative away. “Please, send us word when you decide.”

Midna caught glimpses of her bowing all the way to the door.

Once the ambassador was gone, someone on the dais coughed and cleared his throat. Though he managed to hold his tongue, Midna knew the culprit immediately. Slowly and deliberately, she turned to stare at a tall young palace guard. His patterned black robes and armor hung loose around his broad shoulders. She could easily see the way he tried to mask the humor in his bright amber eyes.

“Kier,” she began, stretching out the single syllable of his name. She kept her tone sweet, but stern. “Is there something you wish to announce?”

He bowed low, prompting the other two guards beside him to do the same. “No, Your Highness,” he said quickly, glancing up at her.

Kier had ambitions to join the royal detail. He’d appeared rather suddenly, rising quickly through the ranks. Sometimes, however, he seemed to forget his place.

As he rose back to a stand, Midna gave him a smile. “If you have some sort of concern, I would _love_ to hear it,” she said softly, fighting the note of darkness in her voice.

“No, Your Highness,” said Kier, right on cue.

She lifted her eyebrows, glancing at the other two guards. “And you?”

They both bowed low. “No, Your Highness,” they said in chorus.

She had to swallow the wicked giggle in her throat. “Well,” she muttered. “I think I need a moment to myself. You are all dismissed to your regular stations.”

Everyone but Kier seemed relieved. Surprise flashed through his eyes. “Princess—”

She fixed him with a hard look. “You may go,” she repeated.

The other two guards bowed, turning on their heels and starting for the door. Kier just stared back at her. She squared her shoulders and wet her lips. “Yes?”

His pale grey cheeks darkened. Whether it was due to frustration or shame, she couldn’t tell. “I—need a letter,” he muttered.

Midna resisted the habit of tilting her head. She was fully ornamented in crowns and jewelry—it would be a disaster if even one part of her headpiece unbalanced. “A letter?” She carefully examined the tense look in his eyes. “What kind of letter?”

Kier chewed on his lower lip. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but—as I’m sure you’re aware—this is something of a probationary assignment—”

_Oh. Of course._ “For the royal detail,” she assumed.

Unsurprisingly, he nodded. Then he seemed to remember himself again and bowed. “My captain asked—well, required—that I obtain your—I mean, Your Highness’s—approval before my training continues.”

It was a struggle not to laugh. As it turned out, years of training in tact and etiquette was actually useful for something. “I see,” she muttered. “Fine then,” she continued, gesturing to him with one hand. A row of bracelets on her wrist jangled together. “Come with me.”

* * *

 Kier shuffled between his feet as he waited for the Princess to write his letter.

They were in an open atrium beside the royal library. Shafts of golden light streamed in through the windows, and he caught his reflection illuminated in the polished black floors.

Long, oval face. Chalky skin. Pointed chin, strong jaw. Hooded, almond-shaped eyes, a bright orange-yellow. He had a mess of hair in the same amber shade. Today it was mercifully hidden by the hooded black cowl of his uniform.

“Here you are,” came the soft, lilting voice of the Princess. He looked up to find her holding out an envelope. “This should satisfy your captain.”

He took the letter carefully, keeping his eyes downcast. He avoided her fingers out of reverence and terror. She was his Princess, after all—but also the most alluring creature he’d ever beheld.

Every time he came close to her, his mind swarmed with unholy thoughts. Even after several palace assignments, he was stunned—shocked and nearly appalled by the way his body responded.

He _yearned_ for her. He _lusted_.

How often had he imagined the shapes and curves concealed beneath the layers of her gowns? How often had he thought of finding her alone—of moving close enough to press their bodies together—backing her up against one of the walls of the palace and—and—

He swallowed hard, grateful for the concealment of his heavy robes and armor. “Th-thank you, Your Highness,” he muttered, stepping back and bowing low. “Please take care.”

Then he twisted on his heel and left, not daring to look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December has me all a-flurry! Please forgive the sparse updates!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Please comment! ❤ I want to know what you're thinking!


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